


The Fall of Night

by AlynnaStrong



Series: Love in the Time of Dragons [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azor Ahai, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Fictional Religion & Theology, Happy Ending, House Greyjoy, Prophecy, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-12 09:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13544301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong
Summary: Brienne and Yara try to enjoy time away from King’s Landing with their friends.  However, a message from  Queen Daenerys brings news of a rising threat in the North.





	1. Chapter 1

Near historic Evenfall Hall on the island of Tarth, the Wood’s Watch estate is inhabited by a not entirely exiled knight, his wife, Cersei, and their seven year old daughter, Brienne. (All knew the girl was named after the knight’s dearest friend and frequent savior; Cersei refused to acknowledge that it’d been her idea). A few times a year, Big Brienne (as she no longer much minded being called) would ask leave from her duties as Lady Commander of the Queen’s Guard. She and her wife, Yara, would make the short voyage to Tarth to visit her father and her friends, bringing along their three children. Their twin boys, Galladon and Yaron, were now six years old, with jet black hair and the bright blue eyes of their mother. Their three year old daughter Rhaella shared their eye color, but instead had silvery, white blond hair.

The four proud parents watched the children play together in the estate’s sunny garden while they chatted. Little Brienne and Yaron were in the thick of a duel with wooden swords. Yaron’s broad shoulders spoke of a strength that would come with age, but Brienne’s flashing green eyes showed a love of battle that couldn’t be taught.

“She knows how to handle a sword,” Big Brienne said, genuinely impressed.

“Of course. She’s had lessons since she could walk,” Cersei replied casually. Brienne thought she could detect a hint of self-satisfaction in Cersei’s smile.

“Yaron has the size to be a page, but the King’s Landing master at arms likes them to be at least seven. I’ll talk to Ser Podrick about it once their name day passes. Him serving under Pod would have a nice symmetry, I think.”

“What about Galladon?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, he’s more interested in sailing than swordwork,” Brienne admitted.

“So Yaron likes swords, and Galladon likes ships? How did you mess that one up, Wench?” Jaime asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a flustered laugh. “They look exactly alike; maybe we switched them at some point.”

“What about Rhaella? Is she showing any inclinations yet?”

“Not really,” Brienne said, a dark expression clouding her brow.

“She loves playing with the hatchlings,” Yara reported blithely. “You should see her toddling around the dragon pit, not a care in the world. I think she’s developing a special bond with the little blue one, Maegon.”

“She is not!” Brienne snapped.

“Oh, you’re just afraid she’s going to end up riding it one day, alongside Daenerys. I think that’d be thrilling.”

Brienne opened her mouth to reply, but Cersei broke in. “Brienne – Big Brienne I mean – could you help me carry some refreshments out from the kitchen?”

 

Brienne followed Cersei inside, but instead of pointing her at anything heavy, Cersei scolded, “Would you snap out of it? Jaime looks forward to these visits to a pathetic degree, and I don’t want you spoiling it with your dourness.”

Brienne scowled frightfully, but Cersei didn’t back down. Finally, Brienne admitted, “Sorry. It’s not his fault at all. It’s Yara.”

“Don’t tell me she’s got you with child again. Is that why you’re so emotional?”

“No,” Brienne said unable to keep the flush from her cheeks. Even after years of marriage and three children, she still had trouble talking about anything related to sex, especially their kind of sex. She didn’t want to ask if Cersei knew where their children had come from.

“Oh, is it the other way? I hope not. If you’ve put a baby in her, she’ll probably not survive it. You’re an ox, and she has the hips of a twelve year old boy.”

Brienne turned wide-eyed and panicked. “I don’t think I…it doesn’t work that way…right?”

Cersei’s elaborately rolled eyes called her an idiot to her face. “I’m joking. How did you get to be such good friends with Jaime if you can’t take a joke?”

Brienne cringed. Cersei always managed to make her feel inadequate. “I don’t know what it is. She’s keeping some sort of secret. And it’s bothering her. She may not be as obvious as me, but I can tell.”

Cersei arranged some snacks on a tray and nudged Brienne to pick it up. “Ask her then, stupid. Like I tell Little Brienne: use your words.”

 

Meanwhile in the garden, Yara inquired, “Hey, while we’re alone a minute, can I ask your advice about Brienne?”

“Certainly, I’ll help if I can.” Jaime liked Yara, possibly the only person other than himself to whom Brienne revealed a feminine side (such as it was). The Ironborn queen didn’t ask that her wife dress or act like a noble lady and yet found her beautiful in every way. Brienne deserved someone who saw that in her, Jaime thought.

“My problem is, I need to convince her to do something, but she’s gotten wise to my best strategy. I was wondering what else works? What did you do if you needed to change her mind?”

Jaime scoffed. “Give up immediately. Then convince myself that her goals were mine all along.”

“Thanks so very much.”

“Glad to be of service. She is a stubborn wench. What have you tried so far?”

Yara scuffed her feet. “Screwing her until she don’t know her own name. Problem is, she’s figured it out. She always says we’ll talk about it in the morning now.”

Jaime barked an uncomfortable laugh. “It’s true that never occurred to me! I did try getting her drunk once, but she just turned all giggly and started to hum tunes and then sing lyrics to completely different songs.”

“Yeah, not one of the world’s great drinkers is our Brienne. So, no advice about, like, debate tactics?”

“Hmm, maybe a logical argument could convince her.” Jaime already looked doubtful. “What do you need her to do?”

“Change religions? See, if I’m ever going to sit my throne, I’ll need a real rock wife, not just a salt wife. A rock wife has to be Ironborn, and Ironborn have to follow the Drowned God. It’s not like the Seven have done her any good anyway! We couldn’t even be married in a sept!”

“I suppose that would entail several vows, and you know how seriously she takes those,” Jaime said in a tone that implied Yara shouldn’t get her hopes up. “ _You_ might want to think about what that means, as well. If there are vows to fuck as many women as possible or conquer a nearby kingdom, you know she’ll go for it.”

Yara chuckled. “The vows should be manageable. They’re not the worst part. She’d also have to be drowned and come back.” Yara put a fist over her chest, “What is dead may never die.”

“You know that her brother-”

“Yeah, I know her brother died by drowning! Her brother, Galladon, same name as our son, who’s probably also going to have to do it. Been trying to think how to prepare her for that for six years now.”

“There’s no shortcut here, I’m afraid. You’re going to have to ask, and be ready to take no for an answer. Make sure she knows you can still love a salt wife.”

 

Brienne always stayed with Yara in a guest room tucked away in the third floor tower. Jaime teased that was due to it being the furthest away from the stables because she yelled loudly enough at night to frighten the horses. Brienne felt that the horses would rest well this evening. She was trying, but she couldn’t get lost in the moment.

After far more foreplay than is generally in an Ironborn’s battleplans, Yara asked her to roll onto her belly. Once Brienne did, Yara straddled her naked back.

“Do you have some sort of new position in mind?” Brienne asked. With Yara you never knew, but Brienne was having trouble doing the geometry on this one.

“Nah. You’re too tense to give a good shag. Thought I’d try to rub out a few of these knots.” Yara’s fingers started kneading Brienne’s shoulder muscles. At first unyielding, the stiffness gradually gave way until Brienne felt herself start to melt. As the muscles relaxed, her mood lifted, too.

“That’s nearly magic. How did you learn to do that?”

“Eh, you soft greenlanders are all alike,” Yara scoffed lovingly. “You couldn’t stand a month at sea, sleeping hunched up in hammocks with no room for a proper stretch.” She pushed down on each of Brienne’s shoulder blades and pulled back on the arm until she’d gotten a satisfying pop from each side. “Better still?”

“Much.” Good gods, Brienne could move her neck all the way to the sides again. She’d married a witch.

“Now, feel like telling me what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. Really, it’s you. You’re keeping something from me and I don’t like it. Shouldn’t we be able to talk about anything? You’ve never once been shy before. Did I do something, or is there someone-”

“Oh god!” Yara put a palm down where a knot was trying to gather again. “I feel like a complete cunt now. It’s nothing…there’s nothing that could ever make me love you any less.”

“Is it a child? Do you want another? Because I would do that for you,” Brienne asked, wanting to volunteer before Yara got a different idea in her head. Brienne now feared Cersei was right about her hips.

“No, that’s not what I was thinking.” Yara stroked down Brienne’s flank, affectionately caressing the sprinkling of freckles and the stretch marks that adorned her ivory skin. She shifted to lie fully on top of her and embraced her from behind, chin propped onto her shoulder. “You never go to sept.”

“What?” Brienne turned her head to read Yara’s expression. Of all the topics to bring up now, _religion_?

“You don’t seem very religious, and that’s fine; but see, I am. I worry. If I die at sea like a proper Ironborn, I’ll feast in the Drowned God’s halls for eternity. There will be mermaids serving my every whim; drinking; singing songs of glorious battles. But it won’t be nothing if you’re not there. I don’t want you rotting away in a crypt somewhere,” Yara grimaced, the image too painful to hold in her mind for long. “It’s been bothering me for a while, especially with the war in the north getting more intense. There’s no guarantees for either of us, you know?”

“The Seven Heavens would be no paradise without you either,” Brienne said sincerely. “But I tend to think that all the gods are the same in the end, and we probably all wind up where we deserve.”

“That’s not what I believe,” Yara said softly. She maintained the embrace, refusing to allow any tears to sound in her voice.

“Well,” Brienne drawled, “it’s true I’m not very devout. The naked woman on my back speaks to that. I wouldn’t have said you were either, honestly. It must be quite a different form of worship.”

Yara perked up, startled by the opportunity. “There are no temples, holy books, or statutes to pray to. It’s more of a way of life. You might like it, now that we’ve cut out the reaving and raping parts. ‘Make your name known in fire, blood, and song. Hold dominion over the waters of the earth.’ Doesn’t sound so bad, right?”

Brienne rolled over slowly so that they could be face to face. Yara hoped she wasn’t trying to distract her with this very familiar position, even though it was working. “It does sound intriguing. There’s something else, though, isn’t there?”

“The baptism. You have to drown and come back.” Yara felt Brienne shudder beneath her. “My uncle has never lost a one,” she promised. “And after, not only will you be a fancy high-ranking royal, but no one will ever ask you to wear a dress again. Ironborn don’t find them practical. You can tell anyone who asks that it’s against your religion.”

Brienne smiled at Yara. She’d gone right back into the sea after Galladon’s funeral. She’d been terrified, but letting fear control her would have been no way to honor him. She could probably do this as well. “Would you be there for the ceremony?”

“Of course,” Yara said firmly.

“Give me some time to mull it over. We could probably ask for leave to go to Pyke in six moons or so. Can you wait that long?”

“I can wait forever for you, love. Kind of the goal, in fact.”

“Can you go down on me in the Drowned God’s hall, do you think?” Brienne teased.

“I don’t see it as being paradise if I can’t.” Yara pretended to consider, “On the other hand, best get in as many sessions here as we can, just in case.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

 

The morning before Brienne and Yara were scheduled to sail back to King’s Landing, Brienne received a raven, its scroll marked with the royal seal. As she read the message, her brow grew more and more pinched.

“What is it, love?” Yara asked.

“The queen wants us back in King’s Landing as soon as possible. Melisandre has seen something in the flames and needs to talk to us all.” Brienne made eye contact with Jaime. “Including you. She specifically said to bring you along, with your sword and armor.”

“That’s wonderful!” Jaime said. “She’s finally letting me off the island.”

For once, Brienne and Cersei were of like minds. They both thought, but didn’t want to say, that when the queen whose father you killed agrees to suspend your sentence so that you can be sent to war, she doesn’t expect you to come back.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Selwyn Tarth never minded hosting his grandchildren at Evenfall Hall. He once thought he’d have no heirs at all, and now he had three. He only wished that his daughter and good-daughter didn’t look so nervous. Brienne said they were being recalled to King’s Landing, but he wasn’t fooled. If she thought their orders would stop there, they’d take the children. Leaving them on Tarth meant that they expected to be gone for a while.

“We’ll send the boys’ tutor and some of their things over from the capital as soon as we can. I expect we’ll know more in a few days,” Brienne said.

“I’ll be happy to help in the meantime,” Cersei said. “Little Brienne and I will come by to visit often, if it please you. I daresay we’ll all appreciate the company.”

Selwyn thanked her, but felt the blood fall from his face. If Cersei’s husband had been called into service as well, the matter must be very grave indeed. He felt coils of fear surround his heart and, for the first time, took the hand of his former queen and squeezed it in mutual reassurance.

 

Brienne and Jaime dressed in gleaming armor to kneel before Queen Daenerys. Yara stood by her wife’s side, dressed normally. She and Daenerys had a queen-to-queen understanding about ceremonials. Melisandre and the Queen’s Hand, Tyrion, waited nearby to advise.

Daenerys said, “You will travel first to Pyke. Lord Theon is gathering the Iron Fleet to sail north. They will bring supplies and necessary reinforcements to the army encamped at the Shadow Tower.”

“Yes, Your Grace. May I ask, though, why wait for us? Can’t Theon sail on his own?” Brienne asked.

“The Lord of Light has use for you in the north,” Melisandre said. “The Iron Fleet will ensure you arrive there safely.”

“I see,” said Brienne, though she didn’t, really. She’d never be able to trust fire magic no matter how hypnotically Melisandre presented it. “We will sail with all due haste. Is there something in particular you would like us to do once we arrive at the Wall?”

“Do not be concerned with that now. Drogon and I will fly north to meet you, closer to the appointed time.” Daenerys said. She’d lost weight that she scarcely could afford to lose and had a sunken look about her eyes. Brienne hoped that the queen’s reunion with her husband in the north would provide a balm for her health. If she could instantly swap the places of Jon Targaryen and Melisandre, she would do so without hesitation.

 

On the journey to Pyke, Brienne annoyed her wife by reading books and scrolls about the Drowned God, all authored by non-Ironborn. Yara would have to have some sharp words with Tyrion for providing her with such biased reading material. She kept explaining that anything written before Daenerys’ reign was years out of date, representing the old way of life. Her uncle Euron had tried to revive that path, but he and the Ironborn who followed him had been defeated. They’d burned in dragonfire mostly, though Yara had gotten her licks in.

“It’s a new way now that Theon’s navigating. There’s no book about it yet, though. You’ll have to see it first hand.” Yara hesitated, squirming with curiosity but trying not to pressure Brienne, who could be so very stubborn. “Are you thinking about, while we’re in Pyke…”

“Yes. It seems like the sort of thing I should take care of before we head into a major combat, don’t you think?”

Yara embraced Brienne and whispered loving nonsense into her neck. She praised her own good judgment as well for chasing after and linking her life to the tall, strange greenlander. Not many could boast of having a woman who would literally agree to die for them.

Theon welcomed them to Pyke with solemn efficiency, but his mood tilted more toward his usual boyish enthusiasm when Brienne told him what she wanted to do. He said he’d make the arrangements for tomorrow morning, and then spent dinnertime toasting his goodsister and the Drowned God. He had little to share about the Iron Fleet’s battleplans anyway, other than Queen Daenerys’ cryptic request to sail to the Shadow Tower and assess the situation once his passengers arrived. He’d send a raven about them to the greenland queen tomorrow after the ceremony. Brienne would need the day to recover.

 

Yara waited with her uncle Aeron, shaking in the brisk breeze and not from nervousness, she told herself. Often called the Damphair, Aeron was considered the preeminent priest of the Drowned God. He had baptized most of the Ironborn now living on Pyke. Conversions from the Faith of the Seven were rare, but apparently his niece had a gift for persuasion. She’d also convinced the Ironborn to follow a queen, after all.

“She’s strong,” Yara warned her uncle. “Your acolytes will need to do more than chant prayers today. You’ll want help holding her down.” She added the last sentence in a near whisper, the gravity of what she started hitting home all at once.

Brienne approached, dressed in her white undertunic and pants. Yara instructed her not to wear any metal armor, and she could find no formal clothes that fit her frame. No dresses, she remembered. At least there’s that.

Brienne stopped next to Yara, already becoming chilled by the northern winds. The bonfires that had been lit to provide some warmth for the audience seemed to do nothing but irritate her eyes with their smoke. “Kiss for good luck?” she prompted her wife.

Yara kissed her, less passionately than she expected, and whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”

Brienne hugged Yara quickly and turned to Jaime who kissed her cheek. _If it goes wrong, take care of her_ , Brienne’s eyes said. _I will_ , his replied.

Aeron Greyjoy called the assembled Ironborn to attention. He cut a compelling figure with his waist-length hair and beard woven with seaweed. He guided Brienne into the shallows of the sea. She could feel the cold of the water through her boots, but the barefoot Damphair did not even flinch.

“Brienne of House Tarth, you would this day consecrate your faith to the Drowned God?”

“I would,” Brienne said.

“Kneel.”

She knelt; the water immediately soaked through the legs of her pants, so cold it felt like icemelt.

“Let Brienne your servant be born again from the sea as you were. Bless her with salt. Bless her with stone. Bless her with steel.”

“What is dead may never die,” Brienne said. It was the closest the Ironborn had to a prayer.

“What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger.” Aeron tipped her backwards into the waves.

Brienne went along voluntarily. The shock of cold disoriented her until she felt the stony beach scrape her back. Her eyes squinted against the burning salt water. She could see the legs of Aeron’s four acolytes surrounding her. They expected her to attempt to thrash her way to the surface, of course. Anyone would; it was involuntary. Everyone has an innate fear of drowning. She felt a tremor go through her and forced the unwelcome thoughts away. She knew what she had to do.

Always a strong swimmer, Brienne could hold her breath for several minutes. The longer she waited, the more time she had to become afraid. She tensed, then yelled her warcry. A thick wash of bubbles left her mouth, and for a moment, her lungs were empty. Her feet scrambled on the ground as her body felt the imperative to breathe in. She hugged her arms around her chest to keep from swimming up. Her head tossed from side to side until blobs of color started to flash in her vision. It hurt. It hurt so much. Surely the pain would be less if she let herself breathe, her desperate brain demanded.

Brienne opened her mouth and the seawater poured in. The pain spiked tenfold. So much worse. Unbearable. She was burning alive from the inside. Anything rational in her mind evaporated, and like an animal, she clawed for the surface. Four strong sets of arms held her down. She pushed and kicked wildly, striking at every limb she could reach. She had no control left, then suddenly, she had no coordination. Her limbs shook with seizures, then she couldn’t move them at all. She lay helpless underwater, salt burning her eyes and lungs, watching her vision slowly narrow to a pinpoint.

“Get her up!” Yara bellowed. She’d seen drownings before, and she’d seen the seizures. That was the last phase.

The Damphair did not pay Yara any heed, calmly watching Brienne for the final sign.

“Get her up!” Yara screamed again. A few of Aeron’s acolytes turned at the splash when Theon tackled Yara and pulled her down into the surf. He feared she was getting ready to rush the priest, probably the worst move she could make. She might distract him from his sacred task and cause him to miss the signal to the Drowned God. His sister thrashed like a landed shark to free herself from his grip. Jaime moved closer, looking distinctly green about the gills himself, and wrapped his strong left arm around Yara’s waist. He tried to appear like a supportive friend and not someone holding her still with all his might.

“This is how it’s supposed to go,” Theon told them both firmly.

Damphair began to doubt his instincts. The woman had been under far longer than most and had stopped moving awhile ago. Her huge eyes, wide open, stared sightlessly under the waves. Still, she had not given the drowned prayer, and until then she had to stay…there it was. Brienne spasmed one last time, yielding up a final bubble of air from the bottom of her lungs. Damphair counted to ten, then ordered, “Up!”

Aeron’s acolytes carried Brienne’s heavy, waterlogged body onto the beach. Her head flopped forward bonelessly, and her lank hair covered her face. A proper, full drowning, suitable for a member of the royal family, Damphair noted with pride. Now to determine if the Drowned God would see fit to allow her to rise again.

Damphair knelt beside her body and linked his hands over her heart. “Bless her with salt,” he said pushing down. Some water leaked from her nose and mouth. “Bless her with stone,” he pushed down again. “Bless her with steel.” On the third push, the blue seemed to recede a touch from her lips. He blessed her with the kiss of life. After two more cycles of the holy prayer, she coughed. Before he could begin again, she rolled onto her side and vomited up an astonishing gout of seawater.

Loud cries of “What is dead may never die,” rose from the spectators. They clanged their axes together, proud of their queen’s wife, now officially and permanently Ironborn. The queen herself was still being held tightly between her brother and her friend. She’d stopped fighting, but her red and snotty face was not fit for her people to see.

 

Brienne could never explain later how she walked back to the castle from the beach. Her limbs felt wooden and her mind barely present. It had been like marching, became her best analogy. The regularity of a rhythm could keep your legs moving even if your mind went away. One of the priests guided her to her bedroom where Yara had ordered their largest tub made ready, filled with steaming water.

Brienne tried to scream in agony as she stepped into the tub, but her throat was too hoarse, her airways too scoured by salt. The hot water felt like burning needles wherever it touched her skin.

“Shhh, we’ve got to get you warmed up,” Yara tried to soothe her. “You’re blue all over.” She’d come back from the dusky color she’d had after the drowning, but the cold could still kill her.

Brienne, moving with little awareness, allowed herself to be lowered fully into the tub. Yara washed the salt from her skin and hair with a gentleness she’d never show to anyone outside the family. The water in the tub cooled quickly in the winter air, but Brienne was pinker and more present by the time it reached lukewarm. As she stepped out, Yara wrapped her in wools and bustled her into bed under as many blankets as she could find.

Yara saw some hope for the future when Brienne abruptly sat up and spat into a handkerchief at the bedside.

“How long will everything taste of salt?” she asked.

“Day or two. Do you want me to get you a baked potato or an apple? Something else that tastes good with salt?”

“No, I think anything would come right back up, and I already feel like I sicked up the Summer Sea. Did I do well? It happened so fast, I barely remember anything.”

“You were amazing. So determined and strong.” Yara blinked. Every time her eyes shut, she saw the image of Brienne under the sea, her hair floating freely and cloudy blue eyes staring at nothing. Yara had vomited the first dozen or so times but was empty now. “I was afraid the Drowned God was going to keep you for a minute there. He always needs strong oarsmen.”

“It was kind of peaceful once I accepted what had to happen. And the water didn’t feel cold anymore; it felt warm as a bath.” Brienne patted the bed beside her, inviting Yara to join her. Yara snuggled close, pleased to feel warmth coming from Brienne’s body again.

“I don’t want the kids to do it,” Yara said suddenly. “We’ll take them to Great Wyk. They just pour water over their faces there. It’s the same prayers though. It still counts.”

“If you really believed that, you would have had me do it there. I think my brave Ironborn wife has finally experienced true fear.” Brienne stroked her hair, to show she wasn’t mocking her but empathizing. “You might think you’ve been scared before in battle or during a storm, but at least there you can try to do something. Real fear comes when someone you love is in danger, and you can do nothing to protect them.” Brienne rested her head on Yara’s shoulder. “So think about that sometimes, you reckless maniac.”

Yara laughed, flattered. “You get scared for me?”

“Mmm hmm. All the time.”

“You scared about going north? I’m scared and I don’t know why. It’s like a gut feeling.”

“I am…concerned. It may not be a battle I understand how to fight. Dead things walking. Defeated friends rising to fight for the other side. What are we to make of that with our swords and axes?”

“And for what reason do we need to be there? Yeah, Daenerys never did give you a good answer to that, did she?”

“No. I don’t understand it, and I don’t know how to protect any of us – you, Daenerys, Jaime, myself – from undead monsters. So yes, I’m scared, but it won’t keep me from doing my duty.”

“So long as we’re together, I’ll be happy,” Yara said, intertwining their fingers together.

“One way or the other now,” Brienne said.

“One way or the other, aye.” Yara replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about fear was inspired by my favorite line ever about parenting: “I did not truly understand terror until I loved someone who thought staples were food.” That was a blow that struck all the way to the bone.


	3. Chapter 3

The Iron Fleet set sail the morning after Brienne’s induction into the ranks of the Ironborn. She felt well enough to travel, but spent most of her time below decks out of the chill air. She, Yara, and Jaime were aboard Yara’s ship, the _Black Wind_ , while Theon captained his new flag ship _Balon’s Legacy_. Never a particularly competent sailor, Jaime kept Brienne company during the voyage up the coast.

“So Wench, what’s your guess about Queen Daenerys’ secret plan? I think she’ll dangle me as bait from beneath her dragon. Once the White Walkers come for me, she’ll fly up and blast the lot of them.”

“Perhaps she’ll prop each of us in front of a dragon’s nose, to encourage them to fly faster,” Brienne said, then coughed.

Jaime listened carefully for rasping or rattling sounds. Brienne’s lungs were not entirely clear yet, but thankfully she seemed free of pneumonia. “Are you well?” he asked for good measure.

“I’m fine. Though I swear to the…to god that I can still taste salt if I cough hard enough.” Brienne was gradually getting the hang of being a monotheist.

“I was truly, deeply terrified for a minute there at the ceremony,” Jaime said over-sincerely. He had been, but this was no time to be serious.

“Really?” she asked with a skeptical smile.

“Oh indeed. I was imagining telling Cersei that Yara and the children were going to be living with us now. She wouldn’t have stopped at merely killing me.”

“Cersei likes the kids. It’s just you and Yara that would’ve…” she trailed off and her voice started to choke up. “You probably would have had your arms full keeping her from leaping into the sea. Swimming down to kick the Drowned God’s ass. Thank you for-”

“Now don’t get maudlin. It worked out.” If she started brooding about it, he would as well. He’d remember seeing her dusky blue body lying there unmoving for what felt like far too long. Please gods, let only her eyes be blue from now on. “I do have an important question. When you make love,” (her cheeks flushed a healthy pink, good), “do you yell god or gods now?”

“When I can form words, I mostly yell her name, as you well know.” The one saving grace of the close quarters on the ship was that she’d overcome any embarrassment about her noises some time ago. “Jaime, you know the queen didn’t bring you along to throw your life away,” she said, changing the subject back to the coming battle. “I hope she mainly wants your strategic expertise. If not, though, I will…strongly counsel…I will not let her consider you expendable.”

“It’s hard isn’t it? Maintaining perfect loyalty. Sovereigns always think they know best. The problem is, sometimes they’re insane.”

“She’s not mad,” Brienne said, and she meant it. As the Commander of the Queensguard, Brienne saw more of Daenerys than almost anyone else. She knew the queen’s policies often came across as radical, but they were benevolent. Perhaps Daenerys genuinely thought the dragons were her children; perhaps she sometimes looked at Rhaella that way, too. But she was solidly on the side of life. She mourned whenever they lost troops in battle. She had to believe even Jaime’s life had meaning; Brienne kept faith in her.

 

The Iron Fleet approached the Shadow Tower, but could venture no nearer than the Bay of Ice. Now true to its name, the Bay of Ice had frozen over, and the ships could not break their way through. The Ironborn beached them near the Gift and proceeded on foot. During the trek, Brienne saw the dragons flying overhead and knew her queen would be waiting at the tower. They hiked three days through deep snow before finally reaching their destination. Inside, they found much of the remaining Night’s Watch, soldiers from various armies, and some wildlings. The newcomers could hardly tell the difference with everyone covered under the layers of wool and fur.

Brienne and Jaime presented themselves to the queen, leaving Yara and Theon to make arrangements for accommodating the Ironborn. Their crew stacked the provisions they’d carried from the ships in the cellars, earning themselves something of a hearty welcome. Yara realized how protected she and her family had been living in the south. Winter there still mainly represented an inconvenience that required dipping into food stores, made travel more difficult, and added fireplace-related chores to the household duties. Up here, she began to understand the kind of cold that transformed every part of life into a battle for mere survival. These men had lived with it for some time and were so focused on staying alive that they could barely remember the gentle pleasures of family life.

Yara and Theon learned that the White Walkers, the most powerful soldiers of the dead’s army, had begun to gather en mass in these environs about a month ago. Whether coincidentally or intelligently – there was fierce debate – their presence as a group brought about high winds and temperatures low enough to freeze the Bay. The new field of ice provided them a detour around the Wall. The lesser wights were now approaching from the far North in overwhelming numbers. Only excursions from the Shadow Tower to target the White Walkers, and recently, the use of dragonfire to melt the Bay, were holding them back from breaking through onto the mainland.

Brienne and Jaime received much the same information from Jon Targaryen, the Prince Regent. Brienne rejoiced to see him regard his queen with affection even under the dire conditions here. She had not always been sure that their marriage was more than political convenience. Daenerys could certainly use the steadying influence of someone like Jon, not to mention the physical attention. The queen spent far too much of her time obsessing about details beyond her control. At the other extreme, Brienne had been none too pleased to see that Melisandre had flown in with the queen. The priestess currently seemed content to listen and observe, but Brienne expected she would eventually find a way to intrude with her bewildering prophecies.

Once Yara had finally gotten all her men a hearth to warm themselves by and a bite to eat, she went in search of her wife. In the courtyard outside, she at last found Brienne deep in conversation with Jon and his top lieutenants. A broad-shouldered man with a bushy red beard offered to share his fur cloak with Brienne. Her wool one was clearly insufficient, but Yara nonetheless felt compelled to investigate the situation. The man stayed near Brienne as she studied a map that detailed the encroachment of the ice and the supposed positions of their enemies. Yara stepped closer to ask where her Ironborn were supposed to fit into these plans.

Brienne saw Yara for the first time since they’d arrived at the tower. As she drew near, Brienne leaned over to kiss her. She’d meant it to be a simple greeting, but when Yara’s mouth opened under her own, she couldn’t resist taking it a bit further. Yara’s lips were pleasingly warm, and she tasted of the mint she liked to chew to ease her transition from sea to land. Brienne slid her tongue back into her own mouth after a brief but promising interlude.

Yara stood, stunned and blinking in the snow for a few seconds. She laughed, mocking herself. “I came over for some reason, but you just knocked the thought clean out of my head.”

Brienne grinned, “I’m sure it will come back to you if it was important. Follow me and I’ll show you the room Jon found for us.” Few were afforded the luxury of a private room. However, Jon feared placing any of the women amongst his men, most of whom lived day-to-day, no longer bothering to look toward the future or fearing any consequences.

Yara made to follow, but the red-haired man grabbed onto her arm. For a moment, Yara was concerned they’d have to have an axe-flavored discussion about boundaries. Then, she saw the good-natured humor in his eyes as they bounced between her and Brienne. “How did a wee mite like you steal a woman like that?” he asked.

Yara pretended to be offended. “I’m stronger than I look. I’ve got my own ship and a loyal crew. Plus, I admit, she may have helped a bit.”

He laughed a cloud of mist into the frigid air. “Aye, it’s best when they do.”

Brienne doubled back when she noticed a lack of Yara and heard Tormund’s laugh. She immediately took in Yara’s boastful expression…but surely she hadn’t had time to tell him any of the really embarrassing stories. She would though, Brienne could tell, if she didn’t get the two of them apart. Tormund was a tale-teller as well, and couldn’t resist one-upping any story. They’d be here all night. “What foolishness are you two talking about?”

“Just how you and I met, ‘n that sort of thing,” Yara said. Brienne doubted that was all of it. Yara didn’t bother to try to look innocent unless she was guilty of something.

“Let’s go inside. You can tell him whatever you want, in as much detail as you want, over dinner. Just remember, I’ll be waiting for you upstairs. Until I fall asleep. It’s been a tiring day.”

Yara found herself with not much to say during dinner. She ate with one eye on Jon. When he excused himself to join his queen, Yara bolted for the stairs knowing that meant Brienne was free now, too. Tormund reflected that the big woman had the little woman wrapped entirely around her finger, they both knew it, and it seemed like an entirely agreeable fate.

 

The queen’s three dragons provided much needed relief to the men of the Shadow Tower. Working in shifts, they could keep the Bay melted and thus hold back the forces of the dead. However, all knew that it was not a long term solution. If nothing else, the dragons were eating through the army’s food stores at an unsustainable pace. Those scouting beyond the Wall could not give an adequate report on the numbers of the dead’s approaching army. They used words like ‘unfathomable’ and ‘impossible.’

A week after the Ironborn arrived, the dawn scouts brought news that the ice on the Bay was regenerating more quickly. Likely, this meant more White Walkers, but their locations were always difficult to spot. They did not tend to congregate in one place, perhaps to avoid being targets of dragonfire. All three dragons flew now, trying to push the ice back and burn as many of the dead on the shore as possible.

Daenerys, Brienne, and Jon watched the dragons burning the Bay from the western parapet of the castle. The ice kept returning, faster each time. Daenerys wanted to call back Drogon and ride herself, but both Brienne and Jon protested vehemently that the danger was too great. Brienne even shakily volunteered to take on the mission herself. Daenerys refused, hiding her grin. Jon, Tyrion, and Melisandre had proven to have a way with dragons, but they terrified her poor Lady Commander.

A lone figure appeared on the far bank of the Bay. Plainly a White Walker, it knelt and touched the nascent ice at the shore. Cracking sounds could be heard as the ice rapidly solidified. Seeing such an obvious target, two of the dragons aimed their fire at the lone Walker. It was obscured by flames for a moment, but those with the right view could see that the streams of fire did not reach their target before being snuffed out. Everything around him burned, but the Walker remained standing.

The Walker drew a lance from its back and took unhurried aim. Viserion flew lower to breathe again. The Walker threw the lance and hit Viserion squarely in the chest. The weapon that should have bounced harmlessly off his hide instead penetrated deeply. Viserion convulsed and flailed. He tried to fly off, but rapidly lost the strength to stay aloft. He fell onto the lightly frozen Bay, shattering through the ice and plunging deep into the water.

Daenerys raked her fingernails down her face. She tried to scream, but no sounds came out at first. Jon rushed to embrace her as she crumpled to the ground. Daenerys’ sobs began in earnest as he pulled her to her feet. She called to Drogon, and he looped up into the sky to return to her. Rhaegal followed, which was fortunate because the Walker had been taking aim again.

As she watched the body of Viserion fall, Brienne felt a warm hand touch her armor. She felt it _through_ her armor. With foreboding, she looked over to see Melisandre.

“Come,” the priestess said. “Now is the time.”

“The queen needs me,” Brienne replied.

“Your Grace, I must take her. It is time,” Melisandre told the queen. Daenerys nodded, numb with shock and indifferent to the situation.

Jon said, “I will make sure she stays safe.” He kept his own counsel regarding Melisandre but did not seem delighted that she was central to the plan. “Do as you must.”

Melisandre guided Brienne outside where a small group of people were gathered.

“All before has been but birth pains. Now we call upon the Lord of Light to turn the tide against the Night’s King,” she declared.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Brienne considered the small group Melisandre had assembled: herself, Yara, Jaime, and Theon. It couldn’t be coincidence that the people whom the priestess handpicked for the journey North were the ones she’d called together for her desperate maneuver. Brienne had never trusted Melisandre or her fire magic. She resented how her confidence was never shaken, no matter how many times she was proven wrong. Most of all she feared her fanaticism, how nothing and no one mattered more than following the (again, often misinterpreted!) dictates of the Lord of Light.

Melisandre said, “You can all see that the battles here, at the full of our strength, are only serving to delay the Others while they gather their forces. Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised – or Princess, as Old Valyrian is neutral – must be the one who strikes down the Night’s King. The flames have shown me that the Princess is you, Lady Brienne.”

“That cannot possibly be true.” Brienne’s stomach sank. Not only was the woman mad, but her madness would not even be of use to the war effort.

Melisandre recited:

> “There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour, a warrior shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. He shall draw from the fire a burning sword, and that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. He who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him. His triumph shall bring forth a summer that will never end. Death itself will bend the knee, and all those who die fighting in his cause shall be reborn.”

“I have watched you in the flames. I have seen your purity and your rebirth. Beyond doubt, you bear the weight of the prophecy.”

“What do you want me to do, then? Sprint across the bay, wade into those creatures, and keep fighting until I reach the right one?” Brienne asked. It was folly to think she could even make a dent in their numbers.

“That seems to be the essence of it,” Jaime remarked darkly.

“After she is properly equipped. We must first forge Lightbringer.” Melisandre recited again:

> “To fight the darkness, Azor Ahai needed to forge a hero’s sword. He labored for thirty days and nights until it was done. However, when he went to temper it in water, the sword broke. He started over. The second time, he took fifty days and nights. To temper it this time, the drove the sword into the heart of a lion, but once more the steel shattered. The third time, with a heavy heart, he worked for one hundred days and nights to finish the blade. This time, he called for his wife, Nissa Nissa, and drove the sword into her breast. Her soul combined with the steel of the sword, creating Lightbringer.”

“We do not have hundreds of days to forge and reforge a sword. But we do have a very special sword, once part of a blade known as Ice and imbued with powerful magics hundreds of years ago. We also have Theon Greyjoy, who Bran Stark once saw in a vision as a overwhelming wave of water, and Jaime Lannister whose house sigil is a lion, and your-”

“I will drive this blade through your heart if you so much as finish that sentence. I knew you were insane. I don’t know how you convinced Daenerys to listen to you, but I will not hear any more of this.”

“She showed us visions in the flames, Brienne,” Jaime said, his voice low and gentle.

“Tricks. Sorcery.”

“I don’t think so, but perhaps. Still, these creatures are coming and we don’t have a way to fight them. It looks like it must be you.”

“Why me? I can’t- you can’t ask me to hurt those I love, then go off to fight.”

“Prophecy is a funny thing, love. You’re the only one that fits,” Yara said caressing her sword arm. She understood completely; her own role was the easy one here.

“Besides, she can bring us back. I’ve seen it,” Theon said.

Brienne’s attention snapped in his direction. “Really?”

“Yeah. She brought back Jon Snow, when he was a Snow. He was days dead, stiff and bloodless. You can still see the scars from the stabbings in his belly and over his heart. She prayed over him, and he sat up like he’d been taking a nap. Remembered everything, too. Hung the fuckers that stuck him. Hard to argue against the testimony of the murder victim.”

“Is this true? You can bring them back?” Brienne reluctantly asked Melisandre.

“The Lord of Light did allow me to retrieve Jon from beyond the veil of night. I cannot always predict what gifts He will bestow, but He has granted me this power in the past, and I do not see why He would deny it if you defeat the Night’s King.”

Brienne looked each of her loved ones in the eyes secretly hoping to see some hesitation. If any them would give her an excuse, she’d happily turn aside from this task. Theon, always seeking to make amends from his errors of years past, would provide no such out.

Jaime took her hand and said, “Even if you don’t trust her, trust yourself. You’ll make it not have been in vain. See,” he added with a wink, “I’m not as stupid as some people think.”

“Tell me not to,” Brienne said to Yara. It came out as a plea rather than the order she’d intended.

Yara replied, “You calling me craven? You did it for me. I’ve never regretted a thing to do with you and I won’t this time neither.”

“They understand the stakes, Lady Commander. They understand that the lives of their families and everyone else’s are in the balance. This is not a time for squeamish sensibilities.”

Brienne breathed heavily for a few moments then yelled a war cry. She squinted her eyes to restrict her field of view as much as possible. Not being able to see the faces of those she struck down made it possible. She did her duty in three ferocious strokes, then stood panting as the blood of her loved ones ran down the fullers of her sword.

“Now bring them back,” she said with controlled calm.

Melisandre nodded. “When we are done. There are further steps yet.”

Melisandre walked an unresisting Brienne to the edge of the bay. “Dip your sword in the water and wake the dragons from the stone.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Brienne asked. She turned eyes filled with pain and hopelessness to the priestess.

“I will help you.” Melisandre embraced Brienne from behind as she touched the tip of the sword to the water. Blood briefly clouded the surface, then washed away. “Now ask the dragons to wake.”

Brienne closed her eyes and asked as hard as she could. This felt surreal, but it was better than returning to reality and having what she’d done made manifest in the light of day. She only opened her eyes when she felt her hands growing warm, then her entire body. She looked back to see Melisandre fully transformed into a pillar of fire. Her skin was bubbling, her facial features burning away, and her fingers already mere blackened bone. Brienne was also within the inferno, but she did not burn. As she stepped back, the sword remained ablaze. Melisandre’s body crumbled to a pile of bones and ash.

Brienne took another helpless step backwards. Melisandre was dead. But what about – a glance further up the shore revealed three bodies still lying on red-stained snow.

“You now wield Lightbringer, the red sword of heroes,” a voice – Melisandre’s voice – said in Brienne’s mind. “No member of the dead army can stand against you. You will strike down the Night’s King and bring about the summer that never ends.”

“Why should I believe a word you say? You lied to me! You had me kill my best friends, my wife-”

“And me. I gave up my life for this, just as they did: willingly. They knew the risks. You are now bound by your duty to their fates and by prophecy.”

“Are you…in the sword, like Nissa Nissa?”

“We are all here.”

“Then let me speak to the others. Let me speak to Jaime.” As much as Brienne wanted to hear Yara’s voice again, and to beg her for forgiveness, she knew Jaime would offer the clearest-eyed view of the situation.

A change soon rippled through her mind. “You’ve been holding out on me in the sparring. One-Blow Wench is your new nickname.”

Brienne felt tears prick her eyes. “Shut up. You can’t even take your own death seriously?”

“I don’t feel dead. It’s like being in a dark, crowded room. I suppose in one respect the company could be better, but yes we are here and we are fine. No matter what happens, know that we all have faith in you. We trust that if anyone has a pure enough heart to defeat this monster, it’s you.”

 

With Jaime’s words echoing in her mind, Brienne walked across the frozen part of the bay toward the heaviest concentration of wights. She felt no cold. Lightbringer seemed to supply her with an inner reserve of heat. Having lost so much today, she also felt no fear or even anger. Only purpose.

Every wight that crossed her path went down in a dusting of bone. Brienne came to understand that the wights were driven by a mindless urge to kill and grow their ranks. Their hunger had no purpose or will behind it and thus no natural stopping point. The living would never be safe until all these creatures were destroyed.

A tremendous cracking sound came from the ice beneath Brienne’s feet. As the frozen bay broke apart, she ran, and eventually slid, down the increasing slopes of planes of ice until she reached the shore. She watched in horror as a skeletal beast broke its way through the bay. It crawled onto the snowy ground where Brienne could see it had the form of a dragon, but enormous. Far larger than Daenerys’ dragons, larger even than the maesters’ wildest dreams about Balerion the Black Dread. Swirling pools of blue-green energy filled the sockets of its skull.

** “You called for me, Little One, and I am arrived. What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger.”**

“My…God?” Brienne said, going to one knee before the towering form.

** “Little One, you are Ironborn. Will you kneel or will you fight?”**

It was a question so easy that, despite everything, Brienne almost grinned to answer it. Perhaps she had found the right faith for herself, after all. No intricate arguments about the balance of life or tricky questions of sacrifice, just the question of fight or surrender, with surrender being a false choice. “Fight.”

** “Climb on then, and we will have such a battle that the singers will never stop singing of it!”**

Brienne discovered that, along with everything else, she’d lost her fear of dragons. She climbed aboard the Drowned God’s back. He was not truly skeletal, she noticed. His bones had petrified into stone during their long rest below the waves.

The Drowned God roared into battle, disintegrating hundreds of wights with his breath of steam and salt. His claws shredded the White Walkers while Brienne and Lightbringer surrounded them all with an aura of fire. Brienne had opportunity to observe the effects of the Drowned God’s attacks and realized that large numbers of wights fell inert when a White Walker was defeated. Finally she’d found some reason for encouragement; they wouldn’t have to root out each animated dead, only the masters.

Melisandre guided them, slowly and methodically, into the presence of the Night’s King. This creature appeared to be a special breed of White Walker. Icy crests rose from its head in a way that suggested horns, or a crown. Since the slaying of Viserion, it had toiled to dredge his body from the bay. They seemed to have arrived just in time for the Night’s King to have his own dragon mount.

**“To the ground, Little One. We make our stand!”** the Drowned God commanded. He roared at the dead dragon and pressed forward in attack. What was once Viserion turned its pale blue gaze to the God. A gout of ice-blue flame poured forth from its mouth, but the Drowned God’s stony frame did not burn. He laughed and lashed his tail, clearing some space for Brienne on the ground.

“This is what you were born for, you simple woman! Do your duty,” Melisandre yelled. Somewhere in the background, Brienne could swear she heard Yara upbraiding the priestess for calling her simple.

Brienne leapt from the Drowned God’s back and attempted to impale the Night’s King. He parried her attack, and she could feel his shock at the power behind Lightbringer’s blow. His weapon appeared to be made of pure ice, though Brienne was sure it would cut like Valyrian steel. They masterfully met attack for attack, weapons clanging together in the frozen air. Brienne’s head cleared, and time seemed to stand still. She was nothing but her sword, and she would not falter until she had fulfilled her purpose.

The Night’s King was also tireless, however. His allies began to gather at the edges of the battle in numbers even greater than the Drowned God could contain. He intelligently targeted White Walkers and spewed forth his breath as often as possible, but the wights continued to swarm. They protected undead Viserion from the Drowned God’s attacks even as he prepared to unleash his strange flames on Brienne.

“Melisandre, can you burn hotter?” Brienne asked.

“Oh yes,” the sword replied, “Yes indeed. I was only waiting for you to sense the proper time. Have no doubt: fire melts ice.”

Lightbringer blazed forth a brilliant wave of light and fire. Brienne felt her armor heat to the point that it seared her skin under all the layers of padding. It didn’t matter if she burned here, though. It didn’t matter because the creatures were burning with her. The very crown of the Night’s King was melting off his head. His sword shrank to a pathetic icicle. His white-blue skin turned grey and then began to blacken. As he finally caught fire, a silence stretched across the battlefield. Looking around, Brienne could see no enemies. They had all disintegrated, White Walkers and wights alike. All that remained at her feet was a primitive dragonglass dagger.

 

Viserion’s body also collapsed when the Night’s King died. The Drowned God packed the body onto his back. He hadn’t had such a rousing fight in ages. The young dragon deserved to dwell beneath the waves. The Drowned God ponderously began his walk back toward the sea to rest again within his halls.

“Perhaps you could also escort Yara and Theon,” Brienne suggested tentatively.

**“Little One, I answered your call to give my people more time above the waves to pillage and reave, not take any down with me early. The bodies of those who fought with us today are whole once more. All they need to live again is within the sword.”**

“You see, I did not lie,” said Melisandre. “Now, put me over the bodies and I will guide their souls. The Lord of Light has provided the fire I required.”

“Seems to me, the Drowned God did the work,” Brienne said loyally. “Melisandre, your body is still, um, burned,” she added with dismay.

“Yes, I knew this would be. I will now dwell within the sword.”

Brienne placed the sword - once Ice, then Oathkeeper, then Lightbringer, and now perhaps properly Melisandre – across the span of her loved ones’ bodies. There was a glow of purest white light, followed by the joyous sound of three people noisily taking a breath of freezing air then coughing it back out again.

“The Drowned God is an everfucking sea dragon?” Yara said, climbing to her feet. “Explains a few things, I guess.”

“You think? Seems more questions than answers to me,” Theon said.

Jaime sat up, rubbing his head. “They never stop fighting.”

“Oh I know, believe me, but it’s with love,” Brienne said. She embraced each of them in turn. “I’m glad everyone got back into their right bodies.”

“You’re telling me. I know how much you like my tits. Imagine if you had to put up with Theon’s ugly mug or me trying to learn how to finger you with my left hand.”

Theon and Jaime nodded at one another. Given the very real choice between hand and cock, both men decided to be satisfied going back to what they’d grown used to being without.

“You’re not acting like a very good Ironborn, you know,” Yara said.

Brienne looked at her in surprise.

“You just won a major battle pretty much single-handedly and you haven’t made moves to fuck anyone yet. I’ll give you a little leeway since most everyone’s just getting over being dead and the cold isn’t much of a mood enhancer, but the Grey King would have had all three of us by now.”

“Four,” Theon said, “He’d have found a way to fuck the sword, too.”

“Oh, aye, I think we all want a piece of Melisandre,” Yara said dangerously.

Brienne’s connection with Melisandre had already started to fade. She could not longer hear a voice; now it was more a empathic bond. Still… “I don’t feel she likes that idea,” Brienne said.

“It’s not like she gave you much of a choice,” Yara replied. Brienne leveled a stubborn glare her way.

“Fine, no raping the magic sword. She can watch us having a good time.”

“She likes to watch,” Brienne chuckled, the reality of having her loved ones back starting to sink in.

“Eh, that’s right. We’ll put her under the bed so she can’t. But, once we get back to the tower, everyone else is getting laid or the Drowned God will want to know why.”

“Jaime’s wife is thousands of miles away, and Theon-”

“Jaime is not Ironborn; he’s excused. And Theon’s learned to make accommodations, haven’t you, brother?”

“Yeah. I can’t get Yara to stop giving me advice on the matter.”

Brienne completely understood that.

Yara said, “Oh, and when I was fucking you last night,” (case in point), “I could tell you were wide open.”

“Do I want to guess what you mean by that?”

“Just that if you want add another baby to the family, now’s the time. Getting a red-head would be dead simple, but there are other options.”

“Quee-”

“Daenerys will be fine, especially now that Jon can head south for good. Rhaella would love being a big sister. Besides, thanks to you, it’s about to be spring. I can't think of a better way to celebrate.”

 


End file.
